


Solitary Shell

by Kuukkeli



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Slavery, Recovery, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-19 01:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuukkeli/pseuds/Kuukkeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In life, many things capture your gaze but very few your spark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Drift has the design he had pre-war. I'm not sure what the color of his optics is in canon; MTMTE says it's yellow, Drift mini series says it's red - so I compromised. Also, the orange optic color would indicate to a low class, right?
> 
> Woah. The tags.

_Where are you taking me?_

_A single sentence he didn’t manage to voice._

_His body hurt and didn’t at the same time. Weird, huh? His mind was clouded, every single thought dying out as quickly as they were released. His senses were going haywire – blurry images, incoherent noises, he tasted nothing (not even the energon that was seeping down his intake from his nasal cavity from the punch he received not too long ago), his legs felt like they were made of lead; heavy and stiff. Good thing he didn’t smell anything at the moment. He was walking through a dark alley, his feet kicking the filth out of the way sluggishly._

_There was a sharp tug to the chain and he fell on his knees._

_“Get up!” someone hissed into his audio._

_Then there was a kick to his stomach._

_He turned slowly to his back, his vision glitching. There was something glinting in the distance. Tiny speckles sparkling against a blanket of blackness. Was it night time?_

_“I said get up!” the same voice spat, clearly impatient from the lack of movement._

_The collar tightened around his neck as he was dragged to the side, the chain attached to a hook mounted to the wall. He was given one last slap across the face and then left alone._

_Drugged. Numb. The collar felt like it would choke him, a surprising thing considering how long it had been there. He lay there for a long time before struggling to sit up, back against the wall, face hidden behind his forearms, knees drawn close to chest giving a nonexistent shield._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags will be edited as the story goes on.


	2. Chapter I

It was Wing’s first day off in weeks and he wanted to spend it wandering around Iacon. Sure Iacon was a large city but it had been long since he visited the neighboring city of Altihex. Lucky for him, he had a whole week to himself and time to do something else other than delivering messages around Altihex and Iacon.

The day had gone fast and Wing was making his way to the gate C-27 which would grant him access back to Altihex. He walked past a dark alley and happened to glance its way... and he saw someone sitting behind the fire escape. In the shadows there was a mech hunched, knees drawn to his chest, face hidden behind the dirty forearms.

The white mech checked if anyone else had noticed, too, but there were very few people on the streets anymore.

“Hey. Are you all right?” Wing asked softly as he stepped closer carefully. He kept his distance, though, for he didn’t know if this mech would lash out or not.

The mech on the ground didn’t reply but curled up tighter instead. That’s when Wing’s gaze noticed the heavy chain attached to the hook on the wall. His optics followed down the chain until it disappeared beneath the mech’s chin. He unhooked the chain and lowered it to the ground.

Wing squatted in front of the mech and waited for any reaction. When the mech remained still and silent, the jet placed his hand gently on one of the shoulders. The mech flinched and slowly lifted his face. His orange optics were distant and glazed. Was he drugged?

“Are you all right?” the white mech repeated his question. Again, no response. Wing pondered what to do. Should he take this mech to the closest hospital or call enforcers to take care of him? On the other hand, he didn’t know where the closest hospital was and calling the enforcers would mean he’d have to go with them and answer any possible questions _and_ the gate to Altihex would close in an hour.

Deciding to take this mech back to Altihex, Wing ushered him to stand up. It was surprisingly – and scarily – easy; the mech didn’t protest nor struggle as the jet removed the chain and gestured the mech to follow him. The orange optics just stared at the ground, dim and unfocused.

The mech followed him as if trained to do so, silently obeying any movement or word that Wing did or said. And it scared Wing.

They reached the gate just in time; they had 10 minutes to departure before closing. The officer gave a pensive gaze at the dark mech right behind Wing, his optics sweeping up and down the dirty and rough looking mech.

“Something wrong with him?” the officer asked, pointing at Wing’s... companion.

“Oh, um... My friend drank a little bit too much and got into a bar fight and is a bit out of it right now”, Wing lied. Hopefully the officer wouldn’t ask further questions.

The officer merely shrugged and opened the gate, bidding Wing and the dark mech good night and safe travel back home.

They stepped into a transporter and sat down on a bench, Wing sitting on the opposite of the mech. Now he could see just how in bad shape the other mech was; deep and shallow scars, both old and more recent, dents, a bent audio finial, missing armor pieces, flaked and scraped off paint, a cracked optic lens... The white mech made a note to himself to call Red Line in the morning.

The ride to the Iacon Station of Altihex didn’t take long and Wing thought it’d be the best to simply carry the mech and fly home, for he was a grounder and it seemed that his legs were too tired. Wing wrapped his right arm under the dark gray knees and his left arm secured the mech from behind his back. It took Wing back that there wasn’t any resistance and... how light the mech was – way too light for his size and type.

Definitely calling Red Line in the morning.

Wing’s nacelle engines whirred to life and soon they hummed steadily, whining loudly as he took off towards his apartment with the dark mech in his arms.

\----

After a few minutes he arrived at the balcony of his apartment and landed softly. He looked at the motionless mech in his arms and carried him inside, lowering him carefully on the berth. He was still awake but clearly not present. He rolled on his side, curling up around himself, though not closing his dim optics.

Wing sat on the edge of the berth and took one dark, cold hand between his own, trying to warm it up. But the hand was tugged away, a faint whimper escaping the lying mech’s lips.

The white mech sighed and got up, leaving the berthroom. Better give him space. Wing walked to the living room and slumped down on the couch.

‘What am I going to do with him?’ he thought and lied down, his mind racing, trying to find any kind of solution for this situation. Eventually, he fell into recharge, the apartment dark and quiet.


	3. Chapter II

Wing groaned as he woke up, his joints and spine complaining for recharging in such an awkward place as his couch. He sat up and rubbed his face to get rid of the stiffness. The apartment was quiet; apparently the grounder was still recharging.

Getting up, the white mech stretched and headed to the berthroom. As he came closer to the door, he heard whimpering and noise of metal sliding against metal. He cracked the door open and peeked in. The mech was tossing around on the berth restlessly and his vents struggled to cool him down. Wing walked to the berth and sat down on the edge, facing the mech. He hesitated for a moment before placing his hand on the dark mech’s forehead – which was hot. Actually, the whole writhing body was hot.

The mech’s optics snapped open the very moment Wing’s hand landed on the dark gray crown. The mech bolted up, slapping the hand away. He scooted away from the stranger until he fell from the berth but that didn’t stop him from retreating to the corner, his optics bright, his vents hitching. Fear shone from the optics as they stared at the mech now standing on the other side of the berth.

Wing slowly came closer but the mech whimpered and curled around himself, his posture and field filled with submission. It must’ve been overwhelming for the mech to see another mech, slightly taller than him, walk closer to him.

Realizing this, the jet stopped and sat down on the floor, leaning his back to the edge of the berth. In silence, he opened the comm. link to Red Line.

 _::Good morning, Wing. I just arrived at the hospital. What would be the reason you call me this early?::_ the medic said on his side of the comm. link.

“Morning, Red Line. I need your help, preferably as soon as possible”, the white mech replied, his tone serious as he kept an optic on the shivering mech.

_::Mh? Something wrong?::_

“Not with me but with someone I brought here last night. Can you come over?”

 _::Let me check my schedule.::_ A pause. _::I don’t have any appointments before the afternoon so I’ll be there in half an hour.::_

“Thank you, Red Line.”

With that, the comm. link was shut and Wing gave the cowering mech his attention. He rose to his knees and crawled on all fours to the mech, sitting on his heels. He made sure he wouldn’t appear menacing or anything of that sorts that would upset the mech further.

“Don’t worry. My friend, who’s a medic, is coming over shortly. He’ll take a look at you and figure out how to help you the best”, Wing said with a small smile on his face, his field reaching out reassuringly, testing the other, clamped down one.

There he sat until he heard the chime of the door announcing Red Line’s arrival.

“I’ll be back in a minute”, he said and got up to let the medic in.

The dark mech remained curled up, ignoring the friendly greetings that echoed from the door. “He’s over here”, he heard being said, immediately curling up tighter.

Wing led Red Line to the berthroom and stepped aside for the other to get to work.

Registering a new set of footsteps, the grounder lifted his head to see who else was in the room. Seeing the medical insignias on the approaching mech, he panicked and tried to back away but failing miserably as his escape route was blocked by a wall behind his back, a tall cabinet on his right and a nightstand on his left.

“It’s all right, it’s all right”, the red and white mech assured, kneeling down while putting his medical kit on the floor, “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m not here to harm you.”

Wing moved about rather restlessly where he stood, his spark swelling with empathy and – he hated to admit it – pity. What could have happened to this mech to cause him to act like this?

Red Line smoothed his field. “What about you hop on the berth and let me take a quick look at you?”

The dark mech seemed to weigh his options and eventually, although clearly reluctantly, with small steps, walked to the berth and sat down, his posture still submissive. He kept his gaze down and shoulders hunched – after all, he didn’t know where he was or who these mechs were. Better play it safe and be obedient.

The medic got to work and inspected the quiet mech visually at first. Multiple injuries, blank expression, optics slightly discolored, collared...

“From what I see here, are the injuries on his armor and the clear signs of him being drugged. Also, that collar irks me”, Red Line explained and rummaged through his kit to pick up a screwdriver. He carefully pushed the grounder’s head down to get a better access to the collar’s latch (which was on the backside of his neck) and wedged the tip of the screwdriver into the latch and managed to break it and the collar slid down from the mech’s neck onto the floor.

“There. One problem less to deal with.”

Done with the collar, Red Line switched the screwdriver with a handheld scanner to scan the mech. The scanner swiped up and down the mech to reveal the results on the screen.

“Thought so; drugged”, he said and frowned sadly as he looked at the mech. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through.”

Wing walked over and peered over the medic’s shoulder to look at the screen. “Drugged? What do you mean?”

“This mech is a low class, and to be more specific, a slave”, the red and white mech murmured.

Realization sunk in and Wing shook his head. He knew there still was inequality between classes but didn’t know it had gone this far.

“What can we do to help him?” he asked.

“Firstly, he needs proper medical attention which I can’t perform here and secondly, I’m not sure about his mental state – I can say better once I’ve done a full scan on him. So what I suggest is that you bring him to my clinic for an examination”, Red Line said and packed his kit.

Taking the advice, Wing nodded and escorted the medic to the door. “We’ll be there soon.”

Red Line acknowledged that and left.

The jet came back to the dark mech and kneeled in front of him. “You heard what my friend said, right? I’m going to take to you to the hospital, to Red Line who just left”, he spoke softly.

The mech didn’t resist when Wing helped him to stand up. They left the apartment and got on a transporter. Fortunately, the hospital wasn’t far away and not too long until they stood at the reception lobby.

Wing checked the information board to see where Red Line’s office was. So, the sixth floor, corridor B, room 568. Heading towards the elevator, he made sure the grounder followed him. A pang of regret hit him; he had forgotten to offer the other mech the chance of shower and his armor was still covered in filth. Well, if the mech was up to it, the first thing they get back home, Wing would shoo him to the wash rack.

The elevator climbed to the sixth floor and they stepped out, the dark mech in Wing’s wake. The feeling of someone following was... quite unnerving. Though, it wasn’t the mech’s fault by any means and Wing felt bad for him.

Finally at the door of Red Line’s office, the white mech pressed the button and waited until the green light flashed and the door buzzed open.

“Good you came so quickly. I have everything arranged for his examination”, the medic gestured to them to enter and led the way to another room in his office, a room with a medical berth, various machinery, walls filled with cupboards and other medical stuff Wing couldn’t name. The mech behind him became slightly alarmed upon seeing the room.

“Now, if you’d lie down on the berth, please”, Red Line said and guided the grounder to the berth.

The mech visibly tensed as he lied down, his optics darting around the room. Wing saw this and pulled a stool and sat down next to the berth. “It’s all right. I’m right here.”

The dark mech turned his gaze to Wing and relaxed a bit. Red Line held a data pad and a cord as he came to them.

“What I’ll do next is to plug this cord to your port and download your information to this data pad”, he explained while he uncoiled the cord and plugged the other end to the pad. He then felt for the port hatch on the mech’s forearm which he found and popped it open and plugged the cord in. Definitely an uncomfortable feeling but tolerable. The mech flinched as the cord was plugged in but didn’t move. Within a minute the information started flowing in the screen and Red Line arranged to information to folders and sub-folders.

Once finished with downloading the information, the red and white mech unplugged the cord from the grounder and closed the hatch and walked to his console to drive the just gathered information to the patient data register. A lot of information was corrupted and/or missing.

_Designation: DR1-F7 (Drift)_  
_Date of sparking: –_  
_Residence: –_  
_Marital status: Low class_  
_Alt. mode: Unknown_

The rest of the information was corrupted and unreadable. So practically, the only things they would know about this... Drift, were his name and marital status. Not much to go by but that had to do until Red Line could fish out more. Though much to his luck, there were some entries regarding Drift’s medical history that he was able to save; a glitching processor (though which was yet to be confirmed), repaired struts on both legs, multiple times of strong pain killers and sedatives being injected straight to the energon line, replaced glenohumeral joints, repaired valve... In what kind of conditions had this mech lived? He was a slave, all right, but... an abused one.

Pushing the grim thoughts aside, Red Line decided to get to work on Drift’s repairs. This was going to take some time... “Wing, I have to ask you to leave. You can wait outside or go to the canteen. I’ll message you when I’m done.”

The white mech merely nodded at that and smiled at Drift and left the medic to do his job.

“All right, Drift. Better put you offline; that’ll make my job easier for me and you won’t be feeling any discomfort.” With that, the red and white mech pressed a button on the console on the side of the berth and the grounder’s world fell black.

\----

Wing sat at a table in the canteen, his jet high grade in front of him barely touched. Why did he feel so uneasy for a stranger he knew nothing about? His legs wiggled constantly, knees bobbing rapidly. If he now had a bass drum with a double pedal, he’d make the most awesome beat anyone had ever heard. He just couldn’t shake the feeling off – he was worried about Drift.

He snorted, amused. He worried over a mech he just had met. He worried over a slave. A slave who was... abused and needed help... Groaning, he slumped over his folded arms, resting his chin on his forearms and glanced at his full cube.

‘If I won’t help him, then who will?’ he pondered. In this society, where it apparently was normal to own a slave of some kind, Wing doubted he’d get any help from public authorities. They’d just say ‘He’s a low class, he doesn’t have rights.’ Venting a deep sigh, he finally took a sip from his cube and set it back on the table, fiddling with it, watching how the liquid swirled around.

Wing sighed again. He couldn’t help his kind nature; when he saw someone needed help, he’d help any way he could. And sometimes that kindness got him in trouble. Though, he didn’t mind much – he liked to help others. Clearing his troubled mind, he downed his energon and exited the canteen to go and wait outside Red Line’s office.


	4. Chapter III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry the events are taking so slow progress. I'll try to speed things up a little. :'D

Wing had his fingers entwined, elbows propped on his knees as he sat on the couch in the corridor outside Red Line’s office. He gnawed the tips of his thumbs – a bad habit he did whenever he was nervous.

An hour had passed since the medic started his job. Surely he’d be finished soon. Drift wasn’t that badly injured. Right?

It was about forty-five minutes until Wing’s comm. link pinged with a familiar ID number.

 _::You may come in.::_ was the simple message and the jet nearly jumped up to his feet and entered the office and strode to the room where Red Line and Drift were. The dark mech seemed better – at least his injuries were repaired and that bent audio finial was now like its twin; straight and erect.

“You look much better, Drift. I bet you feel so yourself, too”, he said, his smile genuine and warm.

Drift said nothing but stared at the cube in his hands, the cube filled with medical grade energon to help his autorepair and give his body the minerals and nutrients it needed urgently.

“I managed to take a proper scan at Drift’s processor. He has a mild processor glitch, not as bad as I thought. He’ll be able to live with it, though it might cause an epileptic seizure which in his case appears as a short absence. With the right medication, the seizures can be kept under control and thus they won’t cause any further damage to Drift’s processor”, the medic addressed Wing directly. 

He had told the grounder this already so there was no need to take Wing to his office to break the news. “In fact, I can give the first batch of medicine right away with you. Drift got the first dose with that energon. The medicine is to take twice a day, in the morning and in the evening”, he rambled on as he made his way to the cabinet to fetch a three month batch of epilepsy medication and wrote a prescription to go along with it.

The red and white mech came back with three fist-sized cubes filled with blue liquid. “Mix a petit cubeful of this with Drift’s morning and evening energon. It’s tasteless so it won’t ruin the taste of his regular energon”, Red Line advised, “The right dose is mentioned on the prescription if you forget”, he smiled.

Drift’s gaze remained on the now empty cube, his shoulders hunched. He was ought to live the rest of his miserable life not only as a slave but as a broken glitch, too.

Red Line noticed this and stroke the dark shoulder gently. “Don’t worry, Drift. Wing is the kindest mech I’ve ever met and I know he’ll do everything to make your life as normal as possible.”

The dark mech turned to look at the white mech in question and received a reassuring and bright smile.

Well, could be worse, right?

Once everything was done, Wing waved his hand for the grounder to follow him and bid good day to Red Line and left the hospital.

In the transporter, Wing saw how much healthier Drift looked; the orange optics were brighter, his armor was clean, though not polished and overall he looked better. A low churning noise raised Wing from his musings and looked at the other mech who ducked his head and avoided optic contact.

First thing they got home was to give Drift a cubeful, the white mech decided.

\----

Drift sat on the couch in the living room, his optics fixed on the floor.

“Here”, Wing said as he offered a cube of mild jet grade to the grounder. Drift eyed at the cube and then gave a suspicious glance at the white mech but snatched the cube, nonetheless, and wolfed down the whole cubeful. An air bubble gurgled up his intake and he burped, some of the energon coming back up and drippling down his chin.

Instead of shrugging it off with a warm chuckle, Wing remained silent and fetched a cleaning cloth from the wash rack to wipe Drift’s chin clean.

“Would you like another one?” the jet asked politely, placing the cleaning cloth on the coffee table.

The grounder merely nodded once, though his field flickered with faint eagerness for getting more fuel. After all, the energon that medic had given him was only medical grade energon which was not enough to fill an empty tank.

The white mech returned with two cubes; one for Drift and one for himself.

Drift took the cube, the empty feeling in his tank slowly easing and the hungry feeling turning into a satisfied fullness. But... there was still room for another cube. Now that he pieced the corrupt and remaining memories together, this probably was the most energon he had ever had. If he was to be here for indefinite time, he hoped this white mech would let him feed whenever he wanted. Though, that thought was shattered by the dark memories of being locked in a dark closet and starved to point of near non-functionality. He didn’t want that anymore and so he downed the cube with three greedy gulps, managing this time to keep the energon down.

Wing watched as the liquid disappeared, the throat mechanisms moving with every swallow. He hadn’t touched his own ration yet; he wanted to make sure the dark mech had his fuel.

Drift lowered the cube on his lap, the same bland expression on his face.

“Do you want more?” Wing asked, finally taking a sip from his cube.

A single shake of the white head gave him his answer. The grounder got up and went to the window that reached from floor to ceiling, giving a nice view of part of Altihex. He sat down and drew his knees close to his chest, staring outside.

The jet’s optic ridges furrowed in a sad frown, his gaze leaving the silent mech and instead falling to the floor in deep thought.

“Why?”

Drift’s voice was... raspy and gruff but it still held some softness in it, the way the syllable rolled from the slightly battered lips. He had to reboot his vocalizer couple of times because of the lack of use.

“Eh?” was all Wing could reply. It was so... sudden.

“Why are you helping me?” the question came with strange easiness and yet... there was suspicion in the tone it was said with.

“Why wouldn’t I be helping you? Helping another is the highest calling one can aspire to”, the white mech answered with sincerity. It was as if it was written in his coding to help those in need.

“It would’ve been easier to just ignore and leave me there”, Drift muttered, his gaze dropping to his hands. They were now smooth and clean, only faint traces of scratches left.

“Yes, it may have been to someone but not to me. I saw you were in pain and I thought the least I could do was to take you to hospital”, the jet replied, placing his almost empty cube on the coffee table, turning to face the sitting mech at the window.

To that, Drift said nothing and turned his optics back to stare out the window.

“Is there anything you want?” Wing asked.

Another shake of that exquisite head and the white mech, too, fell silent. The silence stretched until he cleared his throat to speak again.

“Uh, listen. As I’m aware that you’re a... low class”, he didn’t want to say ‘slave’ – that word tasted foul in his mouth, “I promise I’ll do everything to prevent your past from repeating itself. You’re safe here. And by ‘here’, I mean both this apartment and this city.”

The grounder curled up tighter, resting his head on his folded arms, a shiver travelling through his body. That’s what they all say, he thought. Why should this be any different?

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be in the berthroom reading”, the jet mentioned, taking one last glance at the dark mech before entering the berthroom.

As Wing made himself comfortable on the berth, a thought crossed his mind. He’ll have to get accustomed to having another mech living with him, under the same roof. It’s just that... he’s always lived alone, with no-one to share the two-room flat with. It’ll be interesting to see how things turn out. Well, the up-coming days shall show what fate has stored up its sleeve.

\----

It had been now about two weeks now since the day Drift came to live in Wing’s home and the white mech’s week-long vacation came and went and he had very well time to get acquainted with Drift and vice versa. Though, they didn’t have _that_ many opportunities to chat as you might’ve thought for Drift kept to himself and rarely said anything. Wing didn’t push the other mech – he gave him time to get used to these new events and perhaps eventually – hopefully – Drift would open up to him and speak with him.

Every day repeated basically the same routine; Wing woke up first, took his morning energon, checked his console for any new messages, went out to the balcony to read until Drift woke up about two hours later, gave him his energon (that had his medicine mixed into it) and left for work. He felt a sliver of regret for leaving Drift alone every day but it couldn’t be helped – even though it was “only” for six hours. Fortunately, Wing had two day-offs every week so he’d decided to make up for the lost time on those two days.

This day wasn’t an exception when it came to the daily routine. Wing had the twin glass doors of the balcony open so he could hear the faint noises the grounder made as he shifted around the berth, stretching his limbs.

Only then when the dark mech’s head appeared behind the threshold to look for Wing did the white mech bid him good morning and got up to prepare his medicine and his energon.

“How did you recharge?” the jet asked while mixing one petit cubeful of the medicine with Drift’s morning ration.

Not wanting to interact with the other mech, Drift shrugged one of his shoulders in a ‘who cares’ manner. He took the offered cube and drank it in front of Wing – as the routine went – and retreated to sit at the window as he had yesterday. And the day before yesterday. And the day before that day...

It had become some kind of a pattern for him to sit at the window and stare out in silence.

Wing sighed. “Well, I’m off to work. I’ll be back in the afternoon”, he said before heading to the balcony and took off.

With that, Drift was left alone with his thoughts which turned into grim memories he wanted to erase. A whimper escaped his lips as he tried to fight the memories from surfacing.

_He just thought it’d be interesting to see how it would react if not fed in a week. It didn’t take a brainiac to figure out the result._

_The first day without fuel: it stared at its master in confusion. It’ll get used to not getting fuel as frequently as it has, until now. Well, frequently... it’s such a vague concept everyone makes their own definitions about it._

_Second day: it followed its master with its orange optics from its place in the corner, waiting obediently and silently in hopes of being fed – which never came._

_Third day: it whimpered and earned a painful tweak to its finial, bending the tip. “Shut up”, master growled, “I don’t wanna hear any whining or you’ll end up worse than having a bent finial.”_

_Fourth day: it stopped expecting fuel and was now curled up in its corner, its tank aching. Master didn’t pay it any attention._

_Fifth day: it had started feeling very dizzy and had in fact dry-heaved clear mucus on the floor. When master saw this, it was dragged by the collar in the dark closet and locked in._

_Sixth day: master didn’t open the door the whole day and at some point it heard the noises of frantic fragging on the other side of the closet’s door. Master grunted as he drove his fat spike into his berth partner, the other mech moaning wantonly for more._

_Seventh day: it was nearly passed out when master opened the door, the stifling air of the closet quickly turning into fresher air. It couldn’t move, even though it was ordered to do so. Master grabbed it by its collar and forced it on all fours. “Get out of there. You make me sick”, he spat and almost threw it in its place in the corner as it tried to keep up with its master’s footsteps._

_Master was displeased with it and called a medic to come over to fix it up._

Drift woke from his thoughts with a start. His hands trembled.


	5. Chapter IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This turned out to be a rather dark chapter (at least, in my opinion). Oh, well. :)

When Wing came back home, he found Drift still positioned himself at the window. The grounder didn’t react in any way as the white mech came in.

It’s been about three weeks they’ve lived together and Drift barely made himself known in the apartment – as if he was... a furniture, a possession designed to look good but not make any indications of its presence... A slave trained, tamed to keep quiet and do whatever it’s been told...

Okay, cut those thoughts, Wing. He isn’t that anymore, he’s an equal. He walked to the other mech, taking a seat on the windowsill and turning his gaze outside the window.

“Nice view, isn’t it?” he said, his lips curling in a small smile.

Drift’s optics fell from the view to the floor. “I guess so”, he replied meekly.

A heavy silence fell into the apartment as the dark mech refused to speak any more.

“Would you like to talk to me?” Wing finally suggested, his yellow gaze on the other.

“About what?” was the crude reply.

Wing gave him a meaningful glance and he felt like shrinking under it. “No. Stop staring”, he said and added a hurried ‘please’, trying to evade the rather intense optics that had nailed him in place.

“If you told me about yourself, I’d understand you better”, Wing tried to encourage the grounder.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” This being said, Drift buried his face into his arms, his field pulled tightly against his body to prevent the other mech from brushing against it in hopes of he’d change his mind.

“Drift, please. Try to understand that I’m trying to help you. Anything you’d tell me, I promise I won’t tell anybody.” And he meant that. He wouldn’t tell even to Red Line, not until Drift is ready to do so himself.

“You wouldn’t even comprehend anything I’d tell you, anyways. Nobody would. You have no idea what I’ve been through”, Drift growled quietly, his optics now visible and glaring at Wing.

“I don’t because you won’t tell me”, the other mech said calmly, his field pulsing with the same emotion his words were carried with.

“I don’t trust you”, the grounder spat, anger and sorrow flaring in his still constricted field.

“And I won’t force you to. You’ll take your time with that.”

“Then why do you insist me to talk to you?” Ah, that was a good question.

Wing smiled and thought about that for a brief moment. “Perhaps it’s because I want to help you in any way I possibly can”, he said and got up on his feet and retreated to check his messages.

\----

Later in the evening, Drift was the first one to go to berth and Wing stayed for a while to watch some more TV. Not really paying any attention to the show, the jet decided to call it a day and switched the TV off. He lounged on the couch for a moment before getting up and heading to the berthroom.

Then a small realization crossed his mind; Drift hadn’t had his evening medicine dose yet. It wouldn’t help but wake the dark mech – if he was already in recharge – and give him his medicine.

Wing prepared the cube for Drift and went to the berthroom. To his relief, the grounder was still awake, his orange optics glimmering dimly in the dark room.

“I forgot to give you your medicine”, Wing said apologetically and sat down on the berth and offered the cube for the other to take.

Drift eyed at the cube and sat up to take the cube. He downed the contents in one go and placed the empty cube on the nightstand and lied back down, this time shutting his optics. The room was once again heavy with silence. Wing’s shoulders slumped in exhaustion and he, too, allowed the berth to lure him to lie down and let recharge claim him.

“Night”, the raspy voice said all of a sudden.

Wing’s optics flashed brighter. “Good night, Drift”, he replied, his smile audible in his voice.

\----

One morning Wing had to wake up earlier than usual and he had to prepare Drift’s medicine energon in advance and leave a note.

Drift woke up four hours after the jet had left and tiptoed to the living room. He saw the cube on the counter that separated living room from the kitchen and took the cube. There was a note next to the cube.

_Hi, Drift_

_I’m sorry for not being there when you woke up. I had an early shift today. Here’s your morning energon and it has your medicine mixed in it. Make sure you drink it._

_I’ll be home around noon. Do whatever you wish to occupy yourself while I’m off. There are data pads in the shelf for reading and movies recorded in the TV._

_– Wing_

The dark mech huffed at the message and ignored the suggestions to pass his time. He drank his morning ration and went to his spot at the window. Might as well spend the day zoning out and try to forget everything.

Why did that guy even care? Drift wasn’t anything else than an abandoned low class, a used slave that was worth nothing.

Letting his dark side take control, the grounder buried his face into his arms, his body shivering and let out a ragged sob which turned into a tearing cry of panic, anger and fear.

_He was back in that dark closet. This time for a different reason than last time. This time was worse. He’d be in that closet until he was dragged out by the collar and tossed on the berth to be... well, raped – that was the only fitting word for it. Rape._

_He waited for the closet door to open and a pair of large hands grabbed him by the finials, causing him to whimper in pain as the sensitive appendages were handled so roughly._

_“Shut up”, was the order as the owner of the voice slapped him open-handedly._

_He could taste energon oozing slowly from his split lower lip. He stared down at the floor, his mind separated from this moment, this situation, leaving his body to these mechs’ mercy. His lower lip started swelling and it throbbed, the area hot._

_He was forced to kneel at the edge of the berth, between the knees of a mech’s he’d never seen before._

_“Whaddya wanna do with ‘im?” his master asked, his voice slurred for drinking all that strong high grade._

_“I can do anythin’ I want?” the mech sitting on the berth asked, his words slurring as bad as master’s._

_“Mah treat. He’s pretty good with his mouth. But don’t break ‘im. I need ‘im later.”_

_The mech’s optics practically lit up with lust as his sick mind began to think all the things he’d do with Drift. He gripped Drift’s finials and shoved his face against his panel, the stench of old booze lingering in the air, the heat already wafting in the thin air between Drift’s face and the mech’s pelvic area._

_“What are ya waitin’ for?! Get on with it!” the mech growled and tweaked one of Drift’s finials painfully._

_Drift wanted to gag, the mixed smells of booze and ozone and burnt circuitry overwhelming his senses. Not daring anymore damage to his finials, the dark mech did as he was told and ran his tongue across the heated panel, the panel sliding open before he got to the top seam._

_The mech’s spike emerged, the green biolights pulsing eagerly. The spike had a slight curve to the right and it had a piercing right beneath the tip, two small silvery pearls on each side._

_Drift gave the spike a hesitant lick but the mech was impatient; he pushed the dark mech on his spike, the girth spreading his mouth to the point of hurting. Drift whimpered and squirmed, his hands twitching in midair helplessly. The tip of the spike eventually nudged the back of his throat, his gag reflex nearly dislodging him from the spike._

_“Stay right where ya are, slave”, the mech grunted and placed his hand on the back of Drift’s back, preventing him from retreating._

_The hand pressed him back on the spike, this time giving him time to relax his intake and let the spike slide deep in his throat, the mechanisms bulging out of the way._

_This was repeated several times until the mech pulled Drift back and finished himself with his hand, transfluids landing on Drift’s dark gray face in filthy arches._

_“Get on the berth”, master snapped._

_Drift did as was told again and climbed on the berth on his knees, waiting._

_“On your back, you retarded waste!” master yelled and forced Drift to lie on his back, his head hanging from the edge of the berth._

_Master loomed over his head and the other mech was between his now spread thighs, clawing at the dented and scratched surface. Drift knew what was coming next and so opened both his mouth and panel obediently. Master plunged his spike right in, groaning loudly. As his mouth was filled, Drift’s valve was stretched to its limits as master’s friend thrust in so fast and hard Drift shifted towards master and thus forcing the spike deeper._

_“Oh, yeah! J-just like that!” master howled hoarsely, taking a firm hold of Drift’s face and started pounding away._

_The mech on the other end cackled and immersed himself completely on driving into that very tight valve. The small ridges along the shaft felt like a grater against the delicate – and rather dry – mesh walls._

_Drift’s jaw began to tire and he found he had no strength to utter a single sound so he remained silent and let the two mechs have their way with him. Transfluids seeped between Drift’s lips and master’s spike, as well as from the other end. His face was streaked by silvery trails of transfluids and some trickled over his left optic, forcing him to shut his optics tightly._

_Finally, a burst of transfluids spurted into his mouth, then another and another until there was no room in his mouth and most of the transfluids ran down his face onto the floor. At the same moment he heard a shuddering groan and a hot wave washed over the walls of his valve._

_Master and the mech pulled out and cleaned themselves._

_“Get out of mah sight, slave. And clean yerself, you look disgusting”, master shot and left Drift on the berth as he and his friend went to the living room to get more drunk._

Sharp pain shook Drift from his dark corner and his optics focused on what was happening. He held the crushed glass cube in his hands, some smaller pieces sunk into his fingers and palms. It felt... good. It actually felt good. Seeing your own energon trickling in thin trails down your hands was satisfying, freeing even. What if... what if he managed to get bigger cuts or... slice one line in his wrist... or two or three or four lines...

He got up on shaky feet and stumbled to the wash rack which had a mirror mounted on the wall. He smashed the mirror with one punch and pieces fell on the floor. Picking up the sharpest Drift sat on the floor, his back against the wall and held his makeshift blade to his wrist. He hesitated for a brief moment, in- and ex-venting couple of times before nicking the first line, pain jolting up his sensory net. A startled gasp escaped his lips, his vision glitching before settling back to normal.

He didn’t think there would be so much energon bleeding out from a single line and he watched in horror as the energon kept coming... but he couldn’t stop so he pressed the piece of mirror against two more lines and sliced them open. And then one more. And four lines at once on his other wrist.

He didn’t want to live like he had. He wanted to get out of here. He saw master’s ugly sneering mug and felt his disgusting hands all over his body...

But he also saw Wing. That white jet smiling kindly at him, his golden optics glimmering with gentle solicitousness and acceptance. Wing’s image started becoming clearer and clearer while master shrunk away.

Warm, weightless feeling spread in his body as his head began to feel lighter.

_What are you doing?_

The voice in his head startled him, the piece of mirror falling from his hands, clattering on the tiled floor.

Was that Wing? Or was it Drift himself who said that?

_What are you doing?_

The same voice again and it didn’t sound like the harmonic, soft tenor of Wing’s. It was gruffer and raspy... his, Drift’s, own ugly voice.

_Why are you doing this?_

_To escape._

_To escape what?_

_Life._

_Why?_

_I don’t wanna live like this._

_You don’t want to live with Wing?_

_... I don’t know._

_With Wing you have a home, he takes care of you and has never yet shown any signs of taking advantage of you. He cares about–_

_No-one cares about a slave._

_Wing’s an exception. Either he’s stupid and naïve or he really does care about you._

_..._

_Well, if you’re so sure about dying in his wash rack, lying in your own energon, then fine. Go for it._

The voice had a mocking tone and Drift wanted to silence it for good. He picked up the fallen piece again and lifted it to his neck, making sure the sharpest edge would do its job quickly.

The front door sliding open startled him and the blade dropped on the floor. Hopefully Wing didn’t hear that. “I’m home. I got to leave earlier than I expected”, the soft voice echoed from the living room.

When he noticed Drift wasn’t in his usual spot at the window and the apartment was unusually quiet – at this time of the day Drift would’ve opened the TV and watched some old soap operas Wing had recorded long time ago – and an uncomfortable feeling squeezed his spark and a lump formed in his throat.

“Drift? Where are you?”

The jet checked the berthroom and the balcony but there were no signs of Drift. He then walked to the wash rack and saw the light was on and the door slightly open.

“Drift? You in here?” he peered in and was shocked by the sight; small rivers of energon running towards the drain, Drift’s wrists open and the piece of mirror lying on the floor.

The white mech rushed in and kicked the blade away. “What have you done?!”

Wing was shocked and upset. Of course he would be. What did you expect? A pet on the head and a medal saying ‘Congratulations for trying to kill yourself in the wash rack!’?

“What have you done, Drift?” Wing asked again, his presence calmer but still overwrought.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the other mech mumbled wearily, his optics hazy and trying to follow Wing’s movements as the white mech moved about to reach for the drawer behind him.

Wing tried to open the top drawer where he had the first aid supplies but failed as he tried to staunch the bleeding by squeezing Drift’s wrists. Getting frustrated, he turned to the dark mech. “Press the cut with your other hand while I grab some supplies. I won’t let go of the other wrist, though.”

The jet let go of Drift’s right wrist and the mech grabbed his right wrist with his left hand, leaving them in an awkward knot.

Wing found the first aid kit and pulled it out, some other things falling on the floor in the progress. “I’ll have to let go of your left wrist now but I’ll be quick as possible.” He opened the kit and stirred the kit until he found the pressure bandages, ripping the package open and started wrapping the bandage around Drift’s right wrist.

“You can let go now.”

Quickly finishing wrapping the bandage around the wrist, Wing moved to the left wrist.

Once done, the white mech contacted Red Line. Drift sat on the floor, quiet and still.

Within minutes, Red Line arrived at Wing’s apartment. He didn’t bother to use the front door but landed on the balcony, knocking on the glass door to gain Wing’s attention. He rushed to the doors and let the medic in.

“I came as fast as I could”, he announced once he was gestured to enter.

“And I’m grateful for that”, Wing said.

Red Line was greeted by a desperate sight; Drift sitting on the floor, stained in energon and pressure bandages wrapped around his wrists.

“It’s been weeks without a message from here and now, all of a sudden, I get an urgent call here and what I see; you’ve slit your wrists”, the medic scolded, setting to work to tend to Drift. “Why is that?” he added, looking for the dark mech’s optics.

Drift had already retreated to his shell and refused to answer.

Red Line sighed, disappointed, and guided Drift to lie on his back so he wouldn’t hurt himself if he was to faint. He opened carefully the bandage around Drift’s left wrist, reading himself to a flood of energon.

With the red and white mech’s knowledge, the cuts were quickly cleaned, sealed and bind with proper magnetic bandages. He also made Drift to drink four cubes of energon to compensate the lost energon.

“I’d rather to take you back to hospital, just in case”, he said, his tone firm, leaving no room for any arguments.

The jet picked up the unresisting mech from the floor and with Red Line left to the hospital.

\----

The medic explained that Drift would be in the hospital for one day merely for monitoring and would be out in the following morning.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked as he sat on a stool he pulled under him.

The mech really had closed himself off as he remained silent.

Not wanting to push him, Red Line got up and addressed Wing. “Keep a close optic on him and stay close. He’s in an unpredictable state of mind and I don’t want him to hurt himself further. I’ll try and consult psychiatrists about Drift’s situation. I’ll send you a message when I know more.”

Wing nodded at that and sighed. He didn’t think this would turn out like this.


	6. Chapter V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, bleh. What a chapter. :/

After Drift got out of the hospital, the atmosphere changed in Wing’s home. Probably the biggest change was that every morning, when the white mech would wake up, he woke up to a warm body pressed against his, Drift’s vents humming calmly and an occasional faint purr accompanying the steady sound.

The grounder hadn’t been so close ever before _that_ day. So having the grounder curled up against Wing every morning was... well, in a way adorable but also sad. It was obvious Drift wanted to be held and comforted but at the same time he wouldn’t let Wing touch him. It was a painful dilemma; you want to have intimacy but you can’t stand anybody touching you.

And that’s why, every morning, Wing ever so carefully pried the recharging mech’s arm around him so that when Drift woke up, he wouldn’t panic for being so close to someone. It was a vague precaution but... it still clenched Wing’s spark.

Wing purred as he stretched his stiff limbs. Again, there was the familiar weight over his abdomen and he turned to look at the mech next to him, the expression on the dark gray face relaxed.

The white mech made a move to get up but then Drift stirred and the arm tightened its hold around his waist, a quiet whimper slipping from the grounder’s lips.

‘Oh, Drift...’

Wing tried to free himself from the gentle squeeze but failed as the orange optics opened with a flash of light. The dark mech tensed before yanking his arm back and rolling off the berth.

The jet reached for the other but Drift made a hasty retreat to the wash rack and locked himself in. 

Wing quietly walked to the wash rack door and tapped on it. “Drift... We can talk about it”, he said softly, his voice crackling slightly as he had just woken up.

When there was a muffled noise of Drift getting up from the floor and a click of a lock being opened, Wing slowly slid the door open and was greeted by Drift with his head bowed. The white mech recognized that body language.

“Why are you ashamed?” he asked and ushered Drift to step out.

Drift shook off the hand that grasped his upper arm and stepped past Wing to turn around and face him. “You don’t like it.”

“I don’t like what?” Wing asked, baffled.

“Me being close to you.” Oh, the tone that was said with; utterly defeated and quiet.

“Why would you think that?” Wing couldn’t believe what the other just said.

“Because I’m a slave? Because every morning you...” A heavy sigh, “you get away from me.”

Wing tilted his head slightly and smiled sadly. “I wouldn’t want to but... something tells me I have to. I just... I’m afraid you’d panic first thing in the morning if you found yourself in someone’s arms.”

Yes, there was that. A valid argument but...

“I won’t panic. I know it’s you who’s with me in the berth.” That came out with surprisingly soft voice. “I guess I’m... starting to trust you...” he added meekly, staring down at his feet.

“Really?”

“I mean... it’s been weeks I’ve been here so...” Drift finished with a slight shrug.

Wing’s smile became wider. “Thank you, Drift. I promise your trust won’t go in vain”, he said, sincere and genuine.

The smile made Drift’s spark do funny things and he took a glance at Wing but then turned to look away right after. “You’re weird”, he mumbled.

“How so?”

Another shrug. “I donno. Perhaps because you act so... casual around me”, Drift said, his gaze shifting somewhere past Wing.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Damn it. Wing asked some difficult questions. Why wouldn’t he act casual around him? The white mech saw the discomfort his questions made on Drift’s face and he turned to fetch something hiding behind the cabinet.

Drift tensed as he saw Wing picking up something, his field tight against his body and ready to defend himself.

Wing picked up a whole body mirror and placed it to lean against the berth.

“Come here”, he said softly, holding out a hand for Drift to step in front of the mirror, “Come here stand.”

The grounder swallowed, uncertainty crawling beneath his armor but allowed himself to be pulled in front of the mirror with Wing standing behind him.

There they stood, Drift watching his own reflection and Wing’s golden gaze on him, a warm smile forming on his – the dark mech had to admit it – handsome face.

“Tell me what you see”, the jet spoke in a gentle tone.

It was as if his vocalizer had been ripped out for Drift couldn’t utter a word, so disgusted and ashamed he was about himself. Finally, he seemed to find the control of his vocalizer and ordered it to work. “I see nothing”, he lied, his throat feeling tight and swollen.

“Nothing at all?” Wing questioned, as if trying to snare a proper answer from the other mech.

Drift shook his head firmly, his spark clenching in his chest. “Nothing”, he managed to hiss. He felt so awful. He could see master’s filthy hands roaming all over his body and cruel words written on his body.

Whore. Retard. Disgusting. Worthless. And those were only a small part of degrading words he saw riddling his body.

Then he felt Wing’s hands on his shoulders, a gentle touch which wasn’t meant as an invading or intimate gesture. Just... a reminder the white mech was with him. And it helped. A little.

“Well, I see a beautiful face”, Wing spoke while the fingers of his right hand brushed over Drift’s cheek, “Beautiful orange optics”, he continued and moved to stand beside the dark mech.

When Wing’s hands touched the center his chest and back, Drift flinched, in-venting sharply, his field snapping close to his body. Though, he remained silent.

“It’s all right, it’s all right”, the white mech crooned and lifted his hands away from Drift but only so much so that the grounder could feel his touch without the hands physically touching him. What he felt was Wing’s field concentrated under his palms and that field brushing and stroking along his armor. “I see this beautiful and perfect body that’s made for speed and endurance. I see a strong spark and mind”, he added, almost whispering, gliding down the rigid figure in front of him, feeling and sensing the trembles.

“This beautiful sight... It doesn’t want to be caged. It doesn’t want to be owned. It wants to be free. It wants to live”, Wing finished, kneeling, his hands resting on Drift’s calf and foot.

Drift’s vents hitched and his lower lips quivered as he tried to hold back the tears that were pooling in his optics, waiting to be spilled. “No...” he croaked, “No. Shut up. Stop it”, he whimpered and fell on his knees, covering his face into his hands.

“Stop it”, he repeated.

Wing remained where he was kneeling and placed a soothing hand on the slightly shivering back, stroking up and down tenderly. He flooded his field with affection and reassurance, stretching the edges of his field towards the clamped down one, trying to lure the other to entwine with it.

“Leave me alone”, was the crude reply to the careful attempts to comfort.

When Drift’s plea wasn’t answered, he lifted his face from his hands and locked gazes with Wing. “Leave me alone”, he growled, baring his fangs, his armor bristling, not enough to be taken as a serious threat but as a warning.

The time spent here with Wing had made Drift more daring and had given him more courage to defend himself. And... having so much courage was new to him. He always had been subjugated and told what to do. But no more. From now on, nobody would subjugate him in any way.

“As you wish”, was all Wing said and got up, leaving Drift in the berthroom.

The grounder noticed the disappointed, sad smile on the other mech’s face before he disappeared through the threshold.

A moment ticked by and Drift gathered himself from the floor and went to the balcony to catch some fresh air, the bright sunlight hitting his optics and briefly blinding him. He grunted as his optics ached because of the sudden burst of light, shielding his face with his forearm. He leant to the railing, his mind racing with different thoughts he couldn’t grasp.

He didn’t hear Wing approaching from behind until a hand holding a cube nudged his upper arm. He startled the sudden presence next to him but took the offered cube.

“Thanks”, he muttered but didn’t take a sip right away but merely held the cube in his hands, watching how the liquid swirled around in it.

Wing gave a small smile and sipped from his own cube, joining Drift.

“I’m sorry I upset you. It definitely wasn’t my intention”, the white mech apologized after a moment of silence.

“Can’t really blame you for having a nonexistent self-esteem”, Drift said, accepting the apology Wing really didn’t need to offer. It wasn’t the white mech’s fault Drift’s self-esteem was lower than the filth in the deepest part of gutters.

“Though, I have to admit; it felt kinda good when you touched me like you did. When you did that field-thing with your palms”, he confessed, taking a mouthful of his morning ration, his free hand making a wavy gesture in the air.

“It’s called field massage and it activates sensory net within one’s body and leaves a pleasant and relaxed feeling”, Wing explained.

And he was right; Drift did feel a bit more relaxed than he did before the white mech had performed him this... field massage.

“I can dp that later if you want”, Wing suggested.

Drift didn’t comment on that and an easy silence fell between the two mechs until Wing opened his mouth again. “Would you like to go for a walk today? You’ve refused my previous offers and I’m sure it’ll do good for you to take a walk somewhere else than my small apartment”, the jet hinted and downed the rest of his energon.

Drift mulled over Wing’s words and shrugged one shoulder. Would indeed be good for him to go outside these four walls once in a while – he really couldn’t spent the rest of his life inside–, now that he actually had freedom he’d only dreamed about before.

\----

Wing showed the dark mech many places he loved to spend time in; including the crystal gardens downtown and the market square where the white mech bought different kinds of gelled and solid energon treats – some were sweet, some were sourer and some were salty – and new data pads for reading.

The white mech also showed Drift the Basil of Resonance that had constant and very soothing music that – as the name suggested – resonated through the marble floor and up one’s legs to one’s spark, the soft beat slowing the spark into its rhythm if given the chance. The environment enhanced the effect of the music; the space was divided to different aisles, tall cream white columns supporting the naves and the vault.

There was a balcony that stretched above and around the aisles. Light penetrated freely through the windowless openings, making the whole inside of the basil bath in warmth. At the end of the main aisle was a large and colorful stain glass window; blue, green, yellow, purple... Light casted a beautiful, colorful area on the floor, the colors seeming to dance and shift if you watched it long enough.

The white mech guided his companion to have a seat and enjoy the sounds. And Drift let himself be immersed into the moment. He even closed his optics and actually felt how his spark fell into the rhythm of the music. A wave of peace washed – kind of peace he’d never felt – washed over him and he melted in his seat, the expression on his face relaxing into something Wing hadn’t seen before.

He decided not to mention about it and let the grounder be in peace, though not without smiling at the sight. Then he focused on the music and the present himself.

\----

It was well into the afternoon when they returned home. Drift found the walk exhausting – after all, he had spent most of his life indoors without any proper exercise – and was ready to take a nap and so he shambled towards the couch and collapsed on it, lying prone, snuggling to get comfortable. Once he was comfortable, his systems slowed down and he fell into recharge.

Wing put the energon treats in a cabinet to be eaten later and took one of the data pads he had bought and sat down on an armchair and started reading. Though, he didn’t give the pad his full attention as his optics wandered to the slumbering mech on the couch and his rather cute finials.

He lowered the pad in his lap and rested his head on the headrest, his gaze still on the dark mech. Would he let Wing to touch one of his finials? Just a little rub at the base?

The white mech’s fingers flexed and squeezed, itching to touch. If he just... brushed his fingers along the finial couple of times?

Ever so carefully, Wing got up from the armchair and tiptoed to the other mech, crouching when he was close enough. He could hear the steady, faint hum of Drift’s vents and saw the slightly open mouth. Turning his attention to the finial, the jet hesitated. This would turn out to be a very bad idea... but Wing couldn’t resist.

And so he slowly ran his index finger up the finial, from the base to the tip. Drift stirred, whimpering quietly, but didn’t wake up. Wing became braver and repeated the act, this time adding his middle finger to accompany the first finger. Still no signs of Drift waking up.

Wing threw his hesitation out the window and planted a chaste kiss to the finial. A deep rumble startled Wing but he soon realized it came from Drift.

“Don’t stop”, the grounder sighed drowsily, opening his optics to narrow orange slits.

Drift’s purring got louder as Wing’s fingers returned to the finial and rubbed the base. “Feels so good”, he mumbled and closed his optics again and let recharge claim him.

Okay, _now_ Wing couldn’t stop touching that finial. He felt so privileged to able to be so close to Drift and touch him like this. And it dawned to him; the dark mech felt safe enough to let him do this. He trusted Wing. That fact warmed Wing’s spark more than anything else before.

He kissed the finial one last time before grabbing his unfinished pad and settling next to the couch on the floor, resuming his reading and rubbing the finial. Now the living room wasn’t so quiet anymore; it was filled with the sounds of hum of vents and a satisfied purr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought that the music in the Basil of Resonance would be something like [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKI92De-t4U).


	7. Chapter VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Attention!** I made some editing (10/1/2015) to this chapter for I didn't like some parts, though the edits won't change the plot in any way. :)

Later in the day – it had actually turned into evening – and the jet had to wake the other mech up and Wing hated himself for that. The look on the grounder’s face was so peaceful and the calm thrum of his field only strengthened it.

The white mech gave a few gentle shakes to Drift’s shoulder but the prone mech only whined in his sleep and turned his head to the other direction, his face towards the back of the couch, his left arm folded beneath him while his other arm hung down from the edge of the couch. Wing sighed at that, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Drift, wake up”, his soft tenor sounded near Drift’s finial, “Otherwise you won’t recharge tonight.” His fingers brushed along the finial again, this time managing to get a reaction of some kind from Drift, his dark gray face reappearing and his orange optics lighting up dimly.

“I’ll prepare your evening energon”, the jet chirped and went to the kitchen.

The very second Wing left, the dark mech missed the gentle attention to his finial, his hand rising to the finial that received the touch. He could swear he felt his finial tingle nicely.

Before long, Wing returned to the living room with two cubes in his hands; one for Drift and one for himself.

“Here”, Wing offered the cube to the other.

Drift sat up and took the cube and scooted on the couch to make room for Wing. The white mech sat down next to the dark mech gladly, minding not to sit too close if Drift wanted to keep his own space.

Neither said anything until Drift had finished his energon and closed the gap between them by pressing against the jet, nuzzling the warm neck.

Wing almost dropped his cube because of the sudden, though rather awkward endearment. “D-Drift? What are you...?”

Drift retreated immediately as he heard the uncertainty and the stutter in Wing’s voice, a small frown taking place on his face. “Nothing”, he grumbled, his empty hand curling into fists as he avoided optic contact.

He stood up and made a move to go to the berthroom but a firm grip around his wrist stopped him. He looked down at Wing whose golden gaze pleaded him to stay. Not actually feeling any bit of tired, he eventually sat back down but refused to look at Wing, shame gnawing at him like a mongrel.

“Drift, please look at me”, Wing begged, taking one of Drift’s hand between his own, encouraging him.

Very reluctantly, the grounder turned to face Wing but he couldn’t keep his gaze on the other mech for long and got up and hurried to the berthroom, leaving the baffled white mech alone on the couch.

\----

Wing found Drift curled up on the berth, his back to the room. The room was dark but he could see the dim orange glimmer of Drift’s optics reflecting from the wall and the furniture near the berth.

“I don’t understand your behavior just now, Drift. At first you wanted to be close to me and then you reject it. Was it something I said or–”

“I want you to touch me but my body doesn’t”, Drift blurted, his back remaining turned to Wing, “It hates the idea of being touched.”

Wing sighed, somewhat relieved it wasn’t his fault but at the same time regretful for thinking so.

“I can, you know, give you some field massage, if you want”, he suggested carefully, walking to the berth and sitting on the edge, “You said you liked it...”

Drift stayed quiet until rolling on his back, glancing at Wing cautiously before accepting the offer. He sat up, back leaning against the wall. His optics followed as the other mech moved closer, his field snapping closer to his body. He still felt timid when someone approached him, despite the fact the other had no bad intentions.

“If it’s okay, I’d like to settle behind you”, Wing said softly, know kneeling on the berth.

The grounder thought that over and allowed Wing to take him into his embrace. With his back pressed against Wing’s chest, he felt the warmth wafting from the body behind him. He couldn’t believe he’d feel this safe ever again... but he did.

Wing placed his hands on Drift’s upper arms and there was that pleasant feeling of dense field buzzing and tingling against his armor. Sighing, the dark mech relaxed a bit and nodded his approval.

With that, the jet started. He brushed his palms down both the arms and back up. Then his hands came up front to Drift’s chest where they stopped. He reached his field to test for any flares or pulses of discomfort. When there was none, he continued down the dark chest to the stomach and to the sides. He smiled when he felt the sides flutter a little under his touch.

“How’s that?” he asked, his voice nearly a whisper.

Drift didn’t voice his reply but merely grunted, readjusting himself into a more comfortable position in Wing’s embrace. The orange optics slid closed as the grounder relaxed further. Wing’s hands roamed lower to the hips, to the thighs and back up to the stomach, his field picking up tiny, sharp zings coming from Drift.

The solid body behind him and the feathery brushes of Wing’s hands were doing magic to Drift, his own field slowly rippling with slight curiosity/arousal. Those feelings tried to fight the surfacing memories and he did his best to remind himself that it was Wing who was with him. Within a minute, his body started shivering, the relaxed feeling he was floating in came down in an instant.

“Drift?” Wing spoke, his hands ceasing their wandering and settling on Drift’s stomach, “What’s wrong?”

Drift opened his optics, nailing his gaze towards the ceiling, and ran a hand over his face. “Just... trying to keep myself thinking it’s you.”

As Wing realized what the other was talking about, he wrapped his arms around Drift’s middle and hugged him close, burying his face into the crook of his neck, filling his field with every single positive emotion he could think about.

The flood of kindness hit Drift like the rays of the sun, and the shivering died away.

“Do you want me to—”

“Don’t stop”, the dark mech murmured, interrupting Wing, resting his head on the white mech’s shoulder, his optics closed again.

Keeping his left hand on Drift’s stomach, Wing brought his right hand to one of the finials and dared to touch it with his fingers and heard the deep purr welling from the grounder like it had earlier.

The dark mech tilted his head to the hand to get more contact, rubbing the finial against the hand. A quiet, breathy moan slipped past his lips before he could register himself doing so. It just felt _so incredibly_ good.Venting a deep sigh, he relaxed further into Wing’s lap, pleasant shivers travelling through his body.

The fingers on his finial remained there, not moving anywhere else than roaming down the flat of the finial and up the edges. The touches managed to lull the grounder into a peaceful state of exhaustion, his mind drifting numb to everything else except to Wing’s hands.

“You’re so beautiful”, the white mech whispered, tightening his embrace, “So, so beautiful, Drift.”

It was so warm and safe to be in the jet’s embrace that Drift fell into restful recharge, for the first time in his life.

\----

In the morning, when he woke up, Drift found himself trapped in someone’s arms, warmth radiating from the mech he was basically using as a chair. Wing hadn’t woken up yet, which was abnormal – usually it was the other way around. Though, it was nice and warm. He liked to be warm. Keeping warm during long periods of staying still was very difficult – if not impossible – for his type; racer models were designed to expel great amounts of heat to prevent the body from overheating. Racer models got cold very easily. It wasn’t unusual to see several speedsters huddled up together on one berth under a heating tarp.

So it was nice to have a warm flyer to press against to.

But... now that Drift had the opportunity to, he focused on the body behind him, the arms that held him tightly, the slow, soothing sound of vents cycling air... and cuddled closer, careful not to wake the other mech up. Eventually, he drifted back into recharge.

It was much later when Wing’s recharge was disturbed by a bump to his chin. He looked down to his right to see Drift’s face pressed to his neck and it was obvious the mech had managed to shift around to sit across his lap without stirring the white mech at some point of the night.

He didn’t dare to move so he wrapped his arms properly around the other mech, lifting his left hand, brushing the smooth cheek with the backs of his fingers. A sigh huffed through Drift’s vents and his optics flickered, refusing to light up entirely.

“Good morning, Drift”, Wing greeted, continuing to stroke the cheek before moving to rub the finial.

The grounder’s optics closed again, his shy snuggling accompanied by a rumbling purr.

“Would you allow me to get up so I can fetch us some energon?” the white mech asked, his voice still thick with recharge.

Drift shook his head and instead got up, staggering the first few steps. “I’ll get them.”

“Remember your medicine”, Wing reminded from the berthroom as the other mech had disappeared to the kitchen.

Soon enough, the dark mech was back with two regular sized cubes filled with standard mid-grade.

“Thank you”, the white mech said as he accepted the cube that was offered to him. “I assume you recharged well?” he added after taking a sip from his cube and smiled when Drift crawled into his embrace again.

“Better than ever before”, Drift replied, settling to sit between Wing’s legs, with his back against the white chest.

Wing chuckled at that and gave him a squeeze. A ping in his chronometer shattered the easy atmosphere in the room. “Oh, damn”, he sighed, “I have to go to work today. I forgot completely. I’ll be late soon.”

“How long will you be off?” Drift asked, studying the contents of his cube.

“I’ll be back in the afternoon”, Wing said and downed his ration in one go, gesturing the other mech to move so he could get up.

The grounder scooted forward for the other mech to get to his feet. Wing hurried to the door but he didn’t make it even to the berthroom door as he felt a faint brush against his field. He turned around and smiled, approaching Drift to give him a quick peck on the forehead. The dark mech flinched at the sudden display of affection, nearly spilling his energon.

The jet disappeared before Drift could say anything, leaving a very flabbergasted mech sit on the berth.

What just happened? Wing had never kissed him before... Well, he had, on his finial but still. Somehow that kiss felt different. It felt... he didn’t have a word for it but it definitely felt different.

Now that he thought about it, what kind of relationship they had – if there was any, for that matter. He’d been living here for... two months now and, to be honest, he’s grown to like Wing. He liked to be around him, liked it when the white mech smiled at him, liked it when his fingers brushed along his shoulder or arm or finial. He liked it when Wing held him.

Two months. What an awfully short amount of time for Drift to create an affection of any kind to anyone. But he felt like he could trust Wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delivering such a boring chapter. I had difficulties to write this so that's why it's crap. :/ But I'm glad if you liked it.


	8. Chapter VII

The door sounded as Wing unlocked it. As soon as he stepped in, he was closed into a tight hug – as he was every day when he came back home from work. He nearly fell over but managed to keep his balance.

“I’m back”, he chuckled and returned the hug, though he was sure Drift didn’t need a reminder – the hug was enough.

The dark mech said nothing and nuzzled Wing’s neck before letting go. Wing was used to Drift being a mech of few words and he had learned to read his EM field, expressions and body language just fine. And right now the grounder’s field rippled between _missed you_ and _glad to have you back_.

“So, what were you up today?” the white mech asked lightly while fetching a cubeful. He filled another one for Drift; he had a slight hunch the other mech didn’t refuel during being alone. He snapped out of his thoughts by a soft call of his name.

“Mh? Yes?”

“I... I said that not much. Mostly read data pads and watched TV. There was a document about the history of Cybertron’s art. I thought you’d like it so I recorded it”, Drift mumbled, taking the cube he was given.

“Thank you. I was meant to do so myself before I left for work but I forgot”, the jet said and downed his ration and rinsed the cube to be put away to dry. He then looked through his messages on a portable data pad and typed away short replies. He heard Drift shifting on the couch and glanced at him from under the edge of his crown and went back writing the message.

“Can we... go for a walk?” the grounder asked, hesitance clear in his voice, rolling the cube between his hands, the liquid swirling gently.

Drift rarely made any suggestions and sometimes still needed encouragement to express his opinions so when the dark mech actually did so, it made Wing smile. Dared he say he’d become rather meticulous about giving Drift to decide for himself – after all, the dark mech was a living being with his own opinions and rights, not some pet to be guided and instructed. Though, some days it felt like it...

“Of course we can”, the jet beamed and put the data pad away, “Whenever you’re ready. Where’d you like to go?”

“Um... I... I dunno. Where do you wanna go?” Drift asked, raising his orange optics to look at Wing.

The white mech walked to the couch and sat down. “This isn’t about my desires. This is about you, Drift. You can say whatever you want, I’m not here to judge and turn you down”, he said, his optics burning with sincerity.

It took Drift a moment to think and he meekly opened his mouth, keeping his gaze casted firmly to the floor. “I... I’d like to go to that crystal garden we visited that one day.”

“Sounds great”, Wing smiled and got up, heading to the door with the grounder following him in suit.

\----

The crystal garden was about an hour walk away but it didn’t bother either Drift or Wing. This way they could enjoy both the views and each other’s company while walking to their destination.

Soon they arrived at the garden and Wing took them to the center where the water fountained to a large, round pool where the water was up to one’s knees. The jet stepped into the pool, the water sloshing gently as he waded around, waving Drift to join him. The other mech didn’t need any more luring and within seconds he was next to Wing, enjoying the rippling of the water against his legs.

The dark mech looked down at his rippling reflection, his smile disappearing like switching off a light.

“What’s wrong?” Wing asked and waded next to Drift.

The grounder said nothing but kept his gaze casted down, kicking the water, sending the clear liquid flying everywhere, shattering his reflection.

“Nothing”, he replied, too quickly for it to be true.

The white mech didn’t buy that and brushed his hand along the other’s arm, encouraging him to speak. “You can tell me if there’s something bothering you, you know that”, he said softly.

“It’s _this_ that’s bothering me”, Drift finally admitted and gestured at himself, his posture sagging in self-loath. He couldn’t stand to look at himself.

Wing said nothing but slowly wrapped his arms around his companion. He sighed as he felt a pair of arms return the hug hesitantly, uncertainly. We have a long way to go, he thought.

“What do you say if we went to that café you like and got us some hot energon and a nice big plate of sweets?” the jet suggested with glee, “That would help to brighten your mood?”

Nodding his answer, Drift tried to smile at Wing’s light attitude but failed as his lips refused to turn into a proper smile. He grasped the jet’s hand, avoiding optic contact, a clear sign he was feeling unsure. As a comforting gesture, Wing lifted his free hand and brushed the backs of his fingers against the dark mech’s cheek. “Let’s go, then”, he said softly.

Again, Drift merely nodded and followed the other mech hand in hand as they walked out the garden and towards the café. The café was only about a fifteen minute walk away and once arriving, Wing held the door open and gestured the dark mech to go in first.

Still unused for such kindness, the grounder was baffled but stepped into the café and waited the other mech to follow him. They went to the counter to pick what they wanted; two big cubes of hot energon and some energon treats, both gelled and those which were hard on the outside and soft on the inside – Drift’s favorite. He could taste the treats on his tongue already, and he had to swallow the extra drool.

Wing saw the hungry stare in the other’s optics and smiled at that.

“Here are the treats”, the waitress announced and held out a tray with two small plates and a one bigger one on it, “I’ll bring the hot energon in a minute.”

“Thank you”, the white mech thanked and shooed Drift to pick a table. He’d come right along with the tray.

Drift pointed at a table sitting next to a window, his gaze asking ‘Is this fine?’

Wing nodded at his way and payed their purchases, looking forward to indulge on a gelled energon ball. He took the tray and weaved his way to Drift and placed the tray on the table and took a seat on the other side of the table.

“Oh, how long has it been, my loved ones, since I’ve tasted you?” he cooed, immediately taking a gelled treat, popping it in him mouth.

The grounder looked at Wing with a weird expression, his right optical ridge arching up. What? Wing spoke to food?

“What?” Wing muffled around his mouthful with a smile.

“Nothing”, Drift said and ducked his head, trying to make his mind about which treat he should eat first. Deciding to start with the bright green one – a slightly sour crust, a rich filling – he picked it gingerly between his thumb and index finger and licked the crust, as if testing the taste. Satisfied with it, he slid it in his mouth and licked his fingers clean. The crust tended to stick to your fingers if it got moist.

Seeing Drift enjoying his treat, Wing smiled and turned his attention to the outside world; mechs either walking or zooming past in their alt modes, couples and friends chatting with one another...

“Here are you hot energons”, the waitress said and placed the cubes on the table. Though, when she turned to leave, she eyed at Drift suspiciously.

Noticing this, Wing butted in. “Thanks. That’ll be all”, he said and took his cube, giving the waitress a smile that was more than just a polite gesture, his yellow optics glinting with an unspoken message.

Drift slumped on his seat, hands on his lap. Damn that waitress, Wing thought. She really didn’t need to look at him like that. “You all right?” the white mech asked, trying to gain the other mech’s attention, “You did absolutely nothing to earn that glance. Nothing at all”, he said reassuringly and pushed Drift’s cube closer to him.

The grounder took the cube and brought it to hips lips, blowing some air to cool the drink down and sipped carefully. That... was delicious. Not too sweet and rich in taste. His optics brightened and he took another tiny sip, just to be sure he wasn’t imagining the taste.

“I knew you’d like it”, Wing beamed and sipped from his own cube, humming as the hot liquid rolled on his tongue and down his intake.

Drift ducked his head a little, his finials drooping a little but managed a very small smile. Such a small smile that the white mech thought he was imagining when he caught a glimpse of it right before it faded away. Wing extended his field to brush against Drift’s and when he wasn’t rejected but welcomed, he became bolder and pushed a tad more.

The dark mech sighed at the soothing sensation, his optics dimming slightly. His gaze rose to meet Wing’s yellow optics but only briefly before the contact was broken. Drift couldn’t look others in the optics for long; it made him feel uncomfortable.

A hand came to rest on his and Wing took a gentle hold of his hand, fingers wrapping around his and the thumb caressing the back of his hand. The jet lifted and pulled his hand slowly towards him.

“Is this okay?” Wing asked, Drift’s hand mere inches away from his lips.

The grounder hesitated for a moment before nodding and stifled a gasp as incredibly soft lips brushed his fingers, testing the waters. Yellow gaze asked for permission to go further and when there was another nod, Wing pressed his lips against the back of Drift’s fingers, planting chaste kisses on each finger.

Drift felt an odd, swirling throb in his spark with each kiss and... he didn’t want to pull his hand away. He wanted this to last longer. But when Wing let go of his hand, he had to fight a pathetic whimper from escaping his lips.

“Thank you for allowing me do that”, the white mech said, an almost ecstatic expression on his face.

The dark mech didn’t know what to say to that and so he remained silent. Though, the funny feeling in his spark didn’t ease up and he shifted on his chair to shake the feeling away.

They didn’t speak after that and spent the rest of the time in the café in silence, their field mingling together and Wing was fine with that. If Drift didn’t want to talk, he didn’t force him to. The way their fields brushed against each other was enough.

After finishing their cubes, they left the café and headed home.

The sun was low on the horizon but not yet setting, painting the sky in different hues of purple and orange. Flyers flew overhead and grounders zoomed past them, either going home or starting their night shifts. Drift kept his gaze mostly on the sidewalk they were walking on and only when Wing mentioned something did he look up to see what the other mech was talking about.

The weather was warm and a gentle breeze disturbed the warmth, making the air smell a bit fresher.

All of a sudden, Drift felt a prickling wave travel up his spine, tingling and unpleasant. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder and saw a pair of purple optics stare back at him in the shadows. He pressed closer to Wing, grasping his hand.

“What’s wrong?” the white mech asked, oblivious of their stalker.

“Don’t look back”, was the simple, hushed reply.

The grounder nudged Wing to pick up their speed. He didn’t like this at all. The familiar feeling of dread crawled into his spark, gripping tighter and tighter the more time they spend on the sidewalk. He wanted home!

The stalker didn’t leave them alone but boldly stepped into the light. Drift turned his head to see who was after them and saw that the mech was alone. Well, that was a small relief but he still wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

They came to a crosswalk and had to wait until the light turned green. There were a lot of people and Drift didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad thing. Wing had picked up the dark mech’s frantic field and emitted reassurance into his own, trying to calm the other mech down.

The light turned green and they crossed the road. When the crowd dissolved, Drift looked around if he saw the purple optics anywhere and apparently the crowd had become too much for the stalker and he was nowhere to be seen. Heaving a shaky sigh, the dark mech’s shoulders slumped but the slight tremble in his hands wouldn’t stop.

Wing pulled Drift into his embrace and enveloped him with his field, warmth/safe/reassurance washing over him.

The white mech murmured reassuring words to Drift and suggested if they should continue their way home by flying. When he received a nod, Wing gathered the other mech into his arms and initiated his jet engines, the loud whine filling their audios. With a jump they were off.

The dark mech hid his face into Wing’s neck and held on tight, his arms wrapped around the jet’s neck. The flight home was short and once Wing touched down to the balcony, he let Drift down.

Inside, Drift climbed straight to the berth and lie down on his side. Wing sat down on the other side of the berth and turned to look at Drift. The dark mech curled up on himself, no doubt his memories flooding back he rather keep away.

“Drift...” Wing whispered, not knowing what to do. Then an idea came to him. He crawled onto the berth and propped his back against the wall and spread his legs.

“Drift, come here”, he said and opened his arms in an invitation to the grounder to come.

Drift looked at the white mech and allowed himself to be embraced. His head was pressed against Wing’s chest with gentle hands, one hand cradling his face.

“Hear my sparkbeat? Just focus on that”, Wing murmured while stroking the dark mech’s back.

The dark mech heard a calm, steady rhythm beneath Wing’s chest and he let his optics slip closed, a sigh escaping his vents as he relaxed in the embrace.

They – especially Drift – had a long way to go until things were relatively normal. But they’d manage. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, fuck. I hate this fic. I hate it how it turned out and I hate it how it ended but I can't bring myself to write/edit it anymore. I'm so done with this fic. *flings the fic out the window*
> 
> Let's see if I write an epilogue or something... Bc


	9. Epilogue

Drift charged and almost brushed Wing’s cheek with his fist but it wasn’t close enough. He turned and again his strike was blocked. But he had his other fist and gave a good punch to the jet’s stomach.

Wing grunted at the impact and grabbed the grounder’s arm with both hands and threw him over his hip, pinning his wrists to the floor. Drift gasped as he came down with a heavy thud, a smirk spreading on his lips as he wedged his feet against Wing’s stomach and kicked the jet over him in a marvelous arch.

Wing landed with an ungraceful crash and quickly rose to his knees to see Drift sprawled on his back on the floor where he had been pinned just a second ago. The dark mech was spent and tired, his vents roaring in an attempt to cycle fresh air into his systems.

The sight was endearing and the white mech chuckled and wiped the oral fluids that had trickled down his chin during the spar. He smiled and sat properly, his own vents spinning on the highest setting.

“That was a good move, Drift. Too bad I realized it a little too late”, he praised, leaning back on his arms.

The grounder stretched his head back to look at the other mech upside down, the grin on his face warm and kind. “Thanks”, he replied and rolled around to his stomach, “I’ve had the best teacher.”

Wing laughed at that, a sound that made Drift’s spark swell with affection. He hadn’t expected to feel this way ever again but... Wing had done that. Wing had managed to make him feel again. And for that, the dark mech was beyond grateful.

He and Wing had been living together for about four millennia now. It’s been four thousand years since this white mech saved Drift and took him under his wing and helped him back on his feet. Four thousand years filled with respect, trust, affection and – slowly but surely – growing love.

Drift’s previous life seemed like a distant nightmare but which still came back to haunt sometimes, especially during the nights. Fortunately, Wing was always there beside him.

The dark mech scrambled up and walked to Wing. “We’re quite beat up, huh?” he snorted as he helped the other mech up.

“What about we go and have a nice and relaxing hot oil bath, hm?” Wing suggested, his voice laced with a deep purr as he nuzzled Drift’s cheek.

Drift gave a purr of his own as he accepted the offer, snaking his arms around Wing’s waist. The jet smiled and returned the hug.

With that, the two mechs left the sparring center to indulge themselves and pamper each other, hand in hand.


End file.
